


Brooklyn Assemble

by riverofnara



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 05:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2535815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverofnara/pseuds/riverofnara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The early, early origins of Brooklyn’s crew: how a rickety old Firefly ship becomes a home for a man out of time, his recovering best friend, a former soldier with a kind heart, a fallen CEO, and two orphaned spies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brooklyn Assemble

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Marvel Big Bang 2014. This truly is self-indulgence at its finest - I wanted Steve and Bucky in space and it grew into something into this weird MCU/Firefly fusion. Some things from the MCU and Firefly universes have been altered for the sake of the story but I hope I keep to the spirit of each one.
> 
> Thank you very much to my beta Jay - any mistakes left are definitely my own as I've been editing this to the last hour (literally). And all my kudos and love go to my fabulous artist endeni who not only gave me lovely artwork to accompany this story but lots of encouragement and motivation for me to write this fic to the very end. Please check out her artwork for this story - it's too wonderful to miss!

Hesper is a small settlement located on Beylix, just shy of a hundred miles south of its capital Newhouse. Beylix itself is just on the right side of the Rim. Quiet, uneventful. There’s running water and some halfway decent electricity when a storm isn’t wreaking havoc. The only fights that break out here are ones over sheep and the homebrewed ale. People here respect privacy and don’t care where you’re from so long as you contribute to the village.

It’s everything Steve sought after fleeing the chaos of Hydra’s victory a year ago.

But now it’s also driving Steve nuts.

“I don’t get it,” Sam states while they’re patching Mr. Cornell’s roof. Sam wipes the sweat off his forehead – the sun’s unbearable today. “No Hydra, no war, no one trying to kill us way out here. Where’s the problem?”

Steve shrugs, laying down the final slat of wood. “By all accounts, there shouldn’t be one.” He holds his hand out for the hammer and nails.

“Exactly. So what, is too perfect out here?” He passes the hammer and nail to Steve. “Do you miss someone hunting your ass down?”

“No, I could still live without that.” He sets the nail in place and with two quick taps, it’s lodged into the wood. He straightens up and motions for another nail.

Sam hands another nail off, still studying Steve. “So it is too perfect then. Too quiet, too peaceful.” Steve beats the next nail in and then Sam adds, “Too normal.”

Steve laughs, only because it’s mostly true. He twirls the hammer around in his hands. “You know, I thought I wanted normal.” That might be true too but it’s not the whole truth. He corrects himself. “I wanted it for Bucky.” Bucky, who’s probably home now from unloading imports from the airfield outside of the settlement, acting out the kind of normal that only existed decades ago.

“That’s a tall order, my friend,” Sam tells him, “There’s absolutely no way there’s a one size fit all kind of normal.”

“No, there isn’t,” Steve agrees, staring out across the flat farmland. He watches Mr. Cornell about sixty feet out pack up the food he just harvested. A man whose normal was his land, every day for over fifty years and he’s never wanted anything more than that.

Steve’s a little envious that Mr. Cornell can find peace in that kind of quiet; the kind Steve’s been struggling to find for nearly a year now.

He’s not the only one. He sees it in Bucky, whose progress from a trauma that would have defeated many men has left Steve in a kind of awe he hasn’t felt since he was curled up on the ground as a kid while a boy with a toothy grin stared down the class bully. But that progress out here on a quiet settlement hasn’t done anything to ease the bad days or the moments Bucky fights to grasp onto the reality he lives in. They’re few and far between now but it feels like Bucky’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop and for a place liker Hesper, the peace must feel like a cruel trick you just know isn’t real.

Mr. Cornell has started making the walk back to the house. It’s about time they finish up too.

“Come on, a few more nails and we’ll be done,” Steve says, getting up and stretching his legs.

Sam stares at Steve. “You really didn't just say that, did you?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” Steve says, as earnest as he can be, but he makes sure his back is to Sam when he moves to the other side of the roof to hide the smile on his face.  
-  
Most nights after dinner, Steve and Bucky go out into their yard to spar. Sam joins them some nights but other nights like tonight, he goes for a second or third run to ‘stretch his legs.’ It makes Steve wonder if Sam suffers from the same restlessness that’s plaguing him and Bucky.

Sparring with Bucky has become an activity Steve looks forward to every day. It’s the thrill of fighting with someone on equal footing, the excitement of not knowing the outcome of the match. Bucky doesn’t hold back and neither does Steve and a rather barbaric part of Steve lives on that thrill.

Tonight, Bucky has been getting the upper hand. He’s gotten Steve on his back twice but that only spurs Steve on to try harder. He’s a little winded and his back and ribs ache from the last pin to the ground but the adrenaline rushes through his entire body, keeps him focused on the opponent in front of him.

Bucky doesn’t even seemed phased; he even has a small smile on his lips as he watches Steve in front of him. He has to be enjoying it as much as Steve is. “You know, I’m kind of getting bored here, Rogers.”

“You can always call it quits,” Steve offers him pleasantly, waiting for an opportunity to pass. The longer he waits though, the harder it’ll be to catch Bucky off guard.

Bucky raises an eyebrow at that and then he darts forward, feinting left then twisting right with his arm swinging to wrap around his neck. But Steve blocks his arm and steps into Bucky’s personal space with a hit to his ribs. Bucky doesn’t make a sound but his shoulder digs into Steve’s chest to push him back, giving him enough room to slip away. Before Steve has a chance to recover, Bucky’s on him again.

It’s a blur of hit after hit, strike after strike. A rhythm develops until it’s almost like a dance, right until Steve sees an opening that brings Bucky to the ground with a knee pressed to Bucky’s chest and a hand gently around his throat.

Bucky looks mildly impressed. “Good job. I don’t even know if I can call that luck.”

Steve rolls his eyes and moves off him; he holds a hand out to help Bucky up. “Because it wasn’t.” He rests his hands on his knees, taking a moment of rest. Beside him, Bucky stretches his arms and Steve hears the now-familiar whirls and clicks of Bucky’s arm as the plates shift.

Steve straightens back up and turns his gaze to the sky. Twilight’s fading fast and he can already count a dozen stars peeking through. His mind drifts to his earlier conversation with Sam and wonders what Bucky might say about it all.

“Do you ever think about out there?” Steve asks, gesturing to the sky. Bucky drops his arms and looks up.

“What, space?”  
  
“Space. The Rim. Everything that’s out there.”

Bucky looks to Steve then back up at the sky. He takes a moment to answer. “Sometimes. I remember looking up, y’know, before. But now…” He trails off.

“You don’t?” Steve prompts but Bucky shakes his head.

“No, I do. But back then, I’d look just to look. I don’t think I was aware that anything was out there. But now, it’s what _else_ is out there? What other planets and moons haven’t I seen or don’t remember?” Bucky shrugs, looks a little chagrined. “Stupid stuff, Rogers. You know me.” He twists his torso to the left and then to the right before he faces Steve again. “One more round?”

“Sure. Winner takes all.” And the conversation slips away as Steve shifts his focus to just one more match.

-

Steve forgets it all until weeks later, when he reaches the end of the weekly farmer’s market. He’s picked up the groceries for the week and even bought some of that strange Beylixian tropical fruit Sam and Bucky are so fond of, they’d arm wrestled for the last one.

When he’s ready to turn back home, he sees Mrs. Chen stretched out on her worn, faded quilt, a fresh stack of books surrounding her.

“Hi, Mrs. Chen,” Steve says when he comes to a stop beside her blanket. Mrs. Chen looks up and her face splits into a smile.

“Oh Steven! Was hoping for my best customer.” She pats the closest stack of books next to her. “Got some good ones for you this week.”

“Oh yeah?” He randomly picks one up from a pile – the title looks like it’s in Russian but the cover reminds him of one those harlequin novels Natasha used to read when they were stuck in the trenches. It makes him smile. “What do you recommend?"

“Why do you have to ask the difficult questions?” Mrs. Chen says with a sigh. She loves books but not a whole lot of settlers seem to enjoy them as much. Steve had thought it a shame but Mrs. Chen had laughed and told him that she didn’t mind – the fewer books bought meant the more she got to keep for herself.

“I just thought it was an honest question,” Steve says, shuffling through a few of the titles. He stops towards the bottom when he spots the title of a thick book.

_The History of the Firefly: the World’s First First-Class Ship_

The cover is straight from Steve’s memory almost eighty years ago, the front page of a newspaper announcing the debut of a new line of space ships known as the _Firefly_ class.

Steve blinks back the memory and before he realizes it, he’s got the book in his hand. “How much for this one?”

Mrs. Chen takes it from him and quirks a smile. “You a history buff Steven?”

“Kinda, ma’am,” he says and she laughs, her eyes crinkled.

"Three dollars.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Steve tells her with a grin but he pulls out a ten and presses it to her palm. She purses her lips and then nudges the Russian novel at him. “Take that too. I don’t know what the hell that says.” And Steve obliges – he’ll pass it along to Natasha next time he sees her.

“Thanks. You have a good day, Mrs. Chen.”

"You too, Steven.”

-  
Steve remembers the day Stark Industries released the first Firefly, a one of a kind ship perfect no longer for military use but for business and personal use too.  
  
He found a rolled up newspaper in the trash outside the tiny restaurant he worked at and seeing the picture of the Firefly for the first time left him in awe. Even in the picture it looked larger than life. And better than any place Steve could only dream to live in when he was older (if, he secretly thought at the time, but his ma and Bucky would scold him whenever he entertained the thought aloud so he learned to keep his insecurities to himself).

He brought it home to Bucky, who cut out the picture and with a rusty nail, stuck it to the door of their small bedroom.

“So we can dream big,” Bucky said, throwing an arm around Steve’s shoulders, “’Cause one day we’ll be flying in one of those.”  
  
“Sure we will,” Steve says, “As soon as you sprout wings and I grow to be a giant.”

“Just you wait, Steve. It’s going to be great.” They don’t talk about Bucky’s letter, drafting him for a galactic war that’s been creeping on their home planet’s doorstep. They don’t talk about Steve’s pile of rejection slips, denying him his right to defend his home. Steve guessed then it also meant ignoring the future waiting for them – more poverty and perhaps Steve alone with the memory of his best friend.

But Steve played along because he was desperate to believe that there was something else waiting for them both at the end of the line. “I call captain.” Bucky’s laugh remains clear in Steve’s head even seventy years later.

“You little punk,” Bucky said, pulling Steve even closer to ruffle his hair. In that moment didn’t matter that in three months, Bucky would be gone and Steve would be on his own for the first time. So he was going to hold on and hope that maybe this’ll be enough to last him for a lifetime.

Steve remembers it as one of the last days where the universe had let them be exactly as it intended: little Stevie Rogers with his best friend Bucky Barnes, pressed to his side. No more, no less.  
-

Steve comes home to find Sam out on a run and Bucky stretched out on the couch. For an instant, it looks like he’s napping but as soon as Steve shuts the door, Bucky’s eyes are open.

“Sorry,” Steve says, “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Bucky shakes his head and sits up. “Wasn’t sleeping.”

Steve pulls out one of the Beylixian fruit he bought and tosses it at Bucky. He’s graced with a small grin and a “thanks” before Bucky bites into it. Steve turns back to the rest of the groceries, chest feeling lighter.

“Don’t tell Sam or he’ll accuse me of playing favorites.”

“Sam already knows I’m your favorite,” Bucky says around a mouthful of yellow fruit.

“I don’t know why, with all your lack of good manners,” Steve says with a smile and Bucky rolls his eyes.

He finishes emptying the bag and finds the two books he bought from Mrs. Chen. His hesitation is brief but he pulls them both out and sets them on top of their tiny kitchen table. Then remembers the erotic Russian novel she gave him and snatches it back to stash away because god forbid Bucky sees that 

“New book?” Bucky asks, closer than he was before and Steve manages to contain his jolt of surprise.

“Yeah, Mrs. Chen said she got a new shipment.” Steve points to the cover of _The History of the Firefly_. “How well do you know your ships?” Bucky picks up the cover, eyebrows furrowed.

“Firefly class, primarily a transport ship, large in size.” Bucky does that sometimes, spews off facts and conclusions that remain in his mind. Bucky once told Steve he’ll never be able to get rid of the calculating aspect of the Winter Soldier. “Old, too,” he adds, more like himself, and Steve nods and points at the cover.

“That headline was in all the papers when those first came out,” he says.

“Oh yeah?” Bucky turns toward him, a curious expression on his face.

“Yep. And then we swore we’d get one someday but then I mutinied.”

That brings out a surprised laugh from Bucky. “You mutinied?”

“I wanted to be captain,” Steve says with a shrug and that makes Bucky laugh more.

“Well, you’d make a better captain. I just didn’t want to admit it then,” Bucky tells him and Steve frowns.

“I don’t know Buck, you’d make a damn good captain. The only problem would be finding people to follow your ugly mug.”

“Better my ugly mug than a dope like you.” He sits down at the table and starts flipping through the pages. And for a moment, Steve can just pretend it’s the 40s and everything was how it was supposed to be; just the two of them on a quiet afternoon and time so far, far away.

There’s a hollow ache in his chest, knowing that the moment doesn’t last no matter how much he wishes it. He clears his throat to shake himself back to reality.

“Anyways, Firefly ships used to be a rare commodity but you can find them just about anywhere in a decent junkyard.”

“Probably means they’re cheap,” Bucky remarks, continuing his skimming when he stops on a certain page. He stares at picture that takes up the entire page – a picture of Howard and Marie Stark, posing in front of their own private Firefly ship. From where Steve stands, he can’t read the expression on Bucky’s face.

He aims for his tone to be neutral when he asks, “Are you still hungry or has that weird fruit of yours filled you up yet?”

Bucky twitches and then he slams the book closed – the noise echoes off the walls of the room. “I’m not hungry.” Steve just nods and plops down next to Bucky, snatching the book away from him.

“Hey,” Steve says softly, “you know you’re not tied to Beylix, right?”

Bucky gives him a strange look. “What makes you say that?” Bucky asks. Steve shrugs.

“I don’t mean it in a mean way, just that…we don’t have to stay here forever. Maybe we haven’t looked at other options.”

“Not like there’s many of those for us,” Bucky says. He sounds put out, like it’s something he’s thought about before. Where else can a super solider and one of the deadliest assassins go outside of the Rim when Hydra’s waiting for the chance to hunt you down?

“Well that’s why I was thinking,” Steve begins casually as he cracks the book open. Bucky hums at him to continue, “that maybe we should look into something like this.” Steve flips to a page where there’s a picture of the first Firefly. He spins the book towards Bucky and taps his finger against the picture.

“A ship?”

“Yeah. I feel like I’m getting a little tired of the scenery around here. Thought we might be due for a change.”

Bucky looks dubious. “By buying a ship and move to another planet?”

“More like move into a ship and travel the universe. Follow through with that dream we had way back when.”

“What dream?”

Steve shrugs. “Travel on our own. Explore the Rim. No obligation to anything except ourselves.”

Bucky stares at Steve as if he’s grown two heads. “So what, planet hop for the rest of our lives? Look over our shoulder every time we go somewhere new?”

“Not if we stick to the Rim,” Steve argues, “Hydra has neither the time nor the resources to move out here, you know that.”

“Who knows how long that would last,” Bucky mutters.

“Then in that case they could very well make it all the way to Beylix. The risk happens whether we stay out or not.” He sees Bucky’s fists clench, as they always do on the topics of Hydra. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” Steve adds quickly, “It’s just a suggestion.”

Bucky is staring down at the pages of the book, his long hair covering his face. He’s still refusing to get it cut but Steve likes it long (likes both ways though so he’s not picky). Even now he has the urge to brush his hand against the strands but thinks better on it.

"I know that I’m getting anxious,” Steve says finally, “I feel like I can’t get comfortable here. I don’t know if I can keep doing this day in, day out.” Bucky looks up at Steve then, eyebrows raised. “I’m not asking you to think about it because of me. But if that’s how you feel about Beylix, Bucky, it’d be stupid for us to stay. If not, we’ll stay. I’d rather be wherever you want to go.”

Bucky inhales sharply at that, turning to look at Steve. His eyes scan his face as if looking for any signs that he’s lying (Steve’s not). He then looks away, remaining quiet. Neither of them speaks but Steve’s perfectly willing to wait. He has enough patience in the world for Bucky.

Finally, Bucky lifts his head up. The expression on his face is too hard to read but Steve’s holding his breath.

“Okay,” Bucky says.

A tentative grin pulls across Steve’s face. “Okay?”

"Yeah, okay. But I call not captain,” he says. The comment takes a second to process and then Steve chuckles, softly, gently, and then it becomes laughter. It’s pure relief and elation, coursing through him at a steady rate.

“Never in my 90 some-odd years of living would I ever thought you’d give up that title,” Steve says.

Bucky shrugs and there’s that half-quirk of a smile, the one Steve remembers so very well.

“Don’t take it so seriously. Just means I don’t want to be responsible for your ass.”

“I can watch it myself just fine.” He watches Bucky, shoulders hunched and head tucked down a little. “Buck, if you don’t want to –“

“I do,” Bucky says quickly, “I…I think it’d be nice.” He winces as if he regrets his word choice but Steve grins.

“Nice, huh?”

“Shut up, Rogers.” But Bucky is smiling and they just decided to sail out to space and the world hasn’t felt this light and carefree since Steve woke up from the ice and this. This is how things are meant to be.

-

It still takes months before take-off. For starters, there’s Sam. Steve makes sure to ask Bucky if it’s okay first and then he offers Sam the chance to join them.

Sam doesn’t even blink. “Fly around the rim with a bunch of 90 something year old super soldiers? Wouldn’t miss it for the universe, Steve.”

Next was money. The three of them already have local jobs and whatever they didn’t absolutely need, they’d stash away in a broken safe. But Steve and Sam start looking for others ways to earn cash. Bucky’s the first to find a second job – he begins weeding Mrs. Korcha’s garden (he got suckered into that one, according to Sam but none of them ca complain about the additional income).

Then there’s actually finding a place on Beylix that sells ships. According to Mrs. Chen, the few shipyards she’s heard of are located in the Beylixian capital Newhouse so one weekend, the three of them take a bus with a plan to visit each of the three known shipyards.

They start with a small one and it’s a _mess_. Broken and battered parts litter the ground they walk. Most of the ships look close to sending them to their deaths within 30 minutes of flight. The salesperson seems to know it too because he doesn’t bother pitching any ship to them. These days, all he’s really selling is parts.

The second one, the salesperson features a Luxemborg ship and doesn’t forget to mention that it “showed those fucking shitcoats what it means to be part of the Alliance.” They leave five minutes later, kindly ignoring the way Bucky’s back is rigid, shoulders tense.

The third one, though. That’s where luck strikes.

The salesman is prattling on about a Beauregard model, just brought in from a private owner hoping to trade up, and for a deal that’s definitely over the budget he and Sam chose, he could fly out of Newhouse today when Steve spots her.

A Firefly model, tucked a few hundred feet away. Steve hasn’t seen one in person since the first Great War and he remembered marveling at the site of the ships because he never expected to see one in his lifetime. And given that the Firefly models have been out of commission for almost ten years now, it’s a miracle he catches sight of one now.

Steve lets the guy keep rambling to Bucky and Sam while he makes his way towards the Firefly. When he gets up close, he can tell that the wear and tear is extensive. Paint is peeling, a couple side panels of the ship look rusty. Dents are everywhere.

And Steve…doesn’t care. He puts his hand on the ship, the metal warm from staying in the sun all day. He touches it and for a split second, he is a kid again, pouring over the large picture on the front page because everything he and Bucky dreamed about was right there in one photo. And it’s here again, right in front of him.

“Oh no,” he hears Sam say over his shoulder. Steve turns to find Sam, Bucky, and the salesperson standing behind him now, all of them staring up at the Firefly.

“How old is she?” Steve asks.

“Fifteen. She’s been through some rough spots as you can see.” Steve can but it doesn’t seem to bother him 

“How much for her?” Steve asks and the salesman looks bemused.

“I don’t know if I’d recommend that, son,” the man says but Steve shakes his head.

“I just want to know how much.”

Sam’s shaking his head like he already knows where this is going. Bucky, however, is walking around the ship, inspecting it. The salesman peers at him through thick round frames, eyes staring at Steve as though he’s crazy. 

“For a piece of crap like this? Four grand.” Steve turns to Sam, a grin working his way up his face and Sam looks torn.

“Four grand is a great deal,” Steve tells him.

“Steve,” Sam warns. Steve turns to Bucky who’s making his way back to the group.

“What do you think?” he asks. Bucky raises his eyebrows as he skims over the ship again and then looks to Steve.

“Four grand’s pretty good,” he says. The both look back to Sam.

“Goddammit,” Sam says, sounding resigned.

-

It’s another three months before they save up enough to ship out. The mechanic down at the shipyard fixes the Firefly – _Brooklyn_ \- up while she’s docked in the shipyard as best as he can but he warns them they’ll need a mechanic for constant care.

The three of them budget carefully, making sure to stock up on food, furniture, mattresses, equipment, supplies. Every weekend, Steve and Bucky go to drop off what they’ve gathered,

The week before they leave, Steve finds Bucky hanging out in the cockpit, a cigarette between his lips as he studies the control panel.

“We’re going to have a hard time finding a pilot who’s able to fly this,” Bucky says, not even turning around.

“And here I thought you’d be stepping up to pilot,” Steve says, resting a hand on the back of Bucky’s chair. Bucky frowns a little.

“I don’t recall saying I did,” Bucky says but there’s a hidden question in there. Steve shrugs.

“You talked about it when I declared the captain’s chair, but I think you grew out of it.” He watches Bucky’s hands hover over the buttons, long fingers twitching.

Finally, Bucky shrugs and responds, “I can pilot it. It’s not my main expertise but I can do it.”

“No pressure,” Steve says, “Sam said he had a little experience too.” Bucky doesn’t respond to that and after an awkward pause, Steve moves towards door. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, don’t stay up here and forget about it.

“Steve.” Steve turns back around. Bucky’s head is bowed over the control panel, his long bangs hiding his face. He keeps most of it swept into a ponytail but the bangs are too short and frame his face perfectly. It’s just as attractive as Bucky’s short style back in the day.

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Do you really want to do this? Or is this about me?”

“World’s not about you, Buck.” Steve shoves his hands into his coat pockets, shoulders hunched in a little. “Can’t it be both?”

Bucky doesn’t turn around and Steve leaves him just as is.

-

They leave Beylix with Bucky at the helm and Steve and Sam standing side-by-side, peering up as the sky slips into dark, dark hues of blue dotted with spots of light. Behind them, the ship’s engine is roaring as she finally stretches her wings and soars up.

It’s a new beginning, Steve thinks when they’re surrounded by stars and space is stretched out around them with no end in sight. And after a damn near century, Steve finally feels the freedom he’s been fighting for.

“So what’s our first stop?” Sam asks and Steve shrugs.

“Whatever the next place we see,” he says and the smile on his face is genuine.

-

Over their celebratory dinner – spaghetti and a protein bar, because Sam insists space will do weird things to their bodies if they’re not healthy (which really isn’t a concern for Steve or Bucky but they go along with it for solidarity), Sam points out they’ll need to shop for a mechanic.

“We got luck on Beylix but we can’t go on for much longer without one.”

“I don’t know, shopping around for a stranger we don’t really know?” Steve says.

“Nature of space travel, my friend. Have to rely on the kindness of strangers to get around here.”

“Mechanics will ask for money,” Bucky says, “For them it’d be just a job.”

Steve turns to Sam. “Any contacts you have?”

“Out of the Army? Hard to find a decent pilot after the Second War ended. Most of them got absorbed into the new military.”

The thought is a little unsettling, to have a stranger waltz in and change the balance of the crew. But Sam’s right – in space, you best be prepared. And they’ll need a crew to tackle whatever they needed out here.

“Could try a few of my own,” Steve says. He thinks of Natasha and her seemingly endless list of contacts. But he doesn’t hear much from her these days.

“We can try advertising too. Lots of planets with travel pits have places to advertise for jobs or offer skills. Couldn’t hurt.”

“A lot of people on the Rim will have cargo work,” Bucky says, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Transporting goods from one area to another. But whether or not it pays decently is the problem.”

“So we’ll take a couple transporting jobs and hunt for a mechanic in the meantime,” Steve says, “Doesn’t seem too bad.”

-

The first two weeks are uneventful. Space, Steve finds, is peaceful and quiet and while that’s probably what pushed Steve out of Beylix, he doesn’t get the same feeling here out here. Here he doesn’t feel trapped, just free to float among the stars with no idea what’s waiting for them. The excitement thrums through Steve, telling him that this was the right path.

And _Brookyln_ is already beginning to feel like home. There’s still some issues; the engine can’t seem to stop making weird clicks and whirrs whenever they fly, growing louder the faster they go. There are odd dents throughout the ship’s interior but by the end of the first week, Steve’s hammered out a few of them at a time. But the issues seem minimal when Steve sits in the copilot’s seat and watches the stars fly by. She’s as solid as can be.

They’ve already made it to a moon – cold as hell, Steve and Bucky weren’t exactly fans – and now have stopped for a night at a planet. The weather is cool but it’s refreshing and light compared to the heaviness of ice that sank into Steve’s bones on that moon.

By mutual agreement, they’ve docked _Brooklyn_ here for a night and sit outside in the open air on a small hill. They scouted the area carefully and there doesn’t appear to be any settlers for miles around them but that’s okay. Steve appreciates the silence and the stillness of their environment.

Now he, Bucky, and Sam are huddled around a fire as Sam is sharing a story from his days in the military.

“So I’m doing my goddamn best to distract our C.O.,” he’s saying his face split in a grin, “while Riley is trying to sneak our wings back into storage. Then Riley, being his usual dumbass self, manages to tip over his own feet and drops our shit. And it’s loud, right? Awfully loud.”

Steve laughs. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Bucky smiling as he stares at the fire.

“But then rather than make up some excuse or apologize, he starts cussing, dropping every single swear word known to man. So of course our C.O. catches him and demands what the hell he’s doing and Riley doesn’t even blink, he just says, ‘cursing sir, I think I just broke a fucking toe.’ Unbelievable, that guy.” Those last words are said fondly, not even with a hint of sadness. It’s the first time Steve recalls Sam sharing any details about Riley.

“I know the feeling,” Bucky speaks up, bringing Sam and Steve’s attention straight to him. Bucky sort of laughs to himself and even manages to look a little smug when he looks up at Steve. “Ethel Greenburg.”

Steve’s jaw drops as his heart stutters. “You remember that?!”

Bucky shrugs. “Sort of? I remember telling the story to the Commandos.” He closes his eyes for a moment, maybe to recall the memory. “Morita…laughed so hard he choked on his food.”

“Gabe had to step in, almost cracked a rib trying to help him out,” Steve adds. He feels light, the typical reaction every time Bucky recovers a memory. He smiles. “You were the best storyteller out of all of us.” Bucky ducks his head.

“All right, dish Barnes. I don’t have nearly enough dirt as I’d like on our captain here.” Bucky hesitates, like he’s collecting his thoughts but then he launches into the story.

At first it’s like he’s reading from a scripting, reciting each word carefully. But as the story progresses, his eyes grow brighter and his own cadence takes over the retelling, sounding more natural with each passing word. Steve watches him as if he’s transfixed on Bucky and it doesn’t matter that they’re both laughing at his misfortune (Steve swore he’d never repeat the details of the story but it’s been almost eighty years and the guilt and embarrassment for Ethel Greenburg is still fresh). It doesn’t matter because this moment feels like a reward he won.

And without a doubt, Steve knows that this is exactly what they all needed.

-

It’s by pure coincidence they find Tony Stark.

Sam’s proposal to look for a mechanic starts in front of a community bulletin board at a tiny bar.

“I think I miss the wanted ads in our newspapers,” Steve laments to himself, eyes scanning the various articles pinned to the board. The range from “Trained Companion Looking for Love” to “Missing: Elker’s Prized Bull, Please Return Before Mating Season.”  
  
He pins their rumpled ad right beside the ad for a trained companion – it’s probably the only bulletin that gets looked at here anyway.

After, Stever moves to where Bucky’s sitting at the far end with a mug of beer in his hands. His posture looks as if he’s relaxing but to Steve, it’s the perfect mockery of ease.

“I don’t think we’re going to get a mechanic here,” he shares when Steve’s in earshot. “There’s nothing but drunks in here.”

“Have hope, Buck,” Steve says as he takes a seat next to Bucky, nudging him with his arm, “The day is still young.”

Bucky snorts and gestures to his left. “Say that to the poor soul over there.” Steve follows Bucky’s hand to a table crowded in the corner where a group of men are sitting. A burly man has a hand gripping the shirt of a smaller man who’s back is turned to the three of them. They’re whispering loudly as if they’re trying, and failing, to keep the topic private. Steve hears every word about a trade for cash over a ‘fucking box.’

“This is about to get ugly,” Steve says and not ten seconds later, the burly man pulls his victim towards him viciously, bumping the table and sending a mug of beer tumbling to the ground where it shatters.

“Hey!” The bartender shouted, her voice threatening, “Quit makin’ a mess or get out!”

The burly man doesn’t seem to hear her, his eyes still trained on the man he’s got a grip on. The other man, however, raises his hand in a conciliatory gesture towards the bartender.

“S’okay, my buddy right here said he’d pay for it,” the man says without moving a muscle. His words are slurred but somehow that voice is familiar to Steve.

“Like hell,” the burly man snarls, yanking the other guy out of his chair. The force knocks the chair over – a few patrons around the table scramble away.

Steve’s had enough. “Hey, the bartender said cut it out,” he calls out and all eyes in the bar turn toward him, including the two he’s talking to and suddenly there’s a fist squeezing the air out of his chest because Steve swears he’s looking straight at Howard Stark.

A second later he realizes his mistake – the man before him has a face that is a little longer and Steve can’t think of a time Howard would prefer a goatee over a mustache. But the resemblance is uncanny and Steve recognizes the man now from the pictures Shield shown him after he woke up.

The man’s eyebrows rise up when he gets his eyes focused on Steve. “Huh. I could’ve sworn I laid off the hallucinogens last night.”

“Tony Stark?” Steve asks. Out of the corner of Steve’s eye, Bucky’s entire body goes still.

“Stay out of this,” the burly man warns them. His beady eyes are on Steve though. “Ain’t none of your business anyhow.”

Steve almost smiles because when has that ever stopped him before? He stands up from his chair, slipping his hands in his pockets. A mockery of casual ease. “The bartender asked you nicely. It’d be rude to ignore her request.”

A couple of the guys in the bar snicker. The burly man studies Steve, taking him in – gauging the worth of a fight.

“Listen to the sweet guy, Stu,” the bartender says, “I ain’t fucking around, you hear?”

The burly guy – Stu, Steve supposes – scowls and lets go of Stark. Stark tugs his shirt down, takes a step away from the table. The smile on his face sends alarm bells ringing in Steve’s head. “Really appreciate it, pal,” Stark tells Stu, “Your body odor was starting to choke me, didn’t know how much longer I was going to last.”

Stu lunges at Stark. Stark’s drunken stupor appears to vanish because he twists out of the way and Stu crashes to floor unceremoniously. Then Stark jumps on top of him and he’s –

– rifling through Stu’s clothes?

Chaos takes over. Stu’s friends are out of their chairs. Two of them rush to Stu’s aide. The other goes straight for Stark. Steve pushes his way towards them but by then, one of the guys has tackled Stark to the ground. Steve sees him pick Stark’s head up and slam it into the ground before his hands go to his throat.

“HEY!” Steve hauls the guy off Stark, who rolls on his side to gasp for air.

“Hey, just catch your breath!” Steve yells at him before he has to dodge a right hook. Steve takes his chance and grabs the guy’s arm, wrapping it behind his back and twisting up. The guy, now bent in half, yelps in pain, his free arm flailing about as if he can smack Steve into letting him go.

“No, you idiot!” Stark wheezes, pointing to Steve’s left. “Him, get him!” Steve’s head whips around to find Stu’s on his feet and halfway towards the exit when Bucky steps in front of the door, blocking him. Stu stumbles to a halt.

It’s like a stalemate - everyone waits for someone else to make the first move. The rest of the bar patrons are watching like it’s a picture show, eagerly awaiting the next plot twist.

It’s the bartender who speaks up. “Fuck, boys, everybody let everybody go.”

Stark pipes up, his voice stronger. “No! No, he’s not going anywhere!” He stumbles to his feet but his gaze is furious, honed in on Stu. “He stole my stuff and I want it back.”

All eyes trained on Tony now move to Stu. Stu’s shoulders hunch, on the defensive but he doesn’t deny anything.

“Is that true?” Steve asks Stu.

Stu sneers but Steve can see his eyes dart from Stark to Steve and then to Bucky. Bucky has Stu’s confidence wavering, Steve can tell – Bucky’s expression is blank, his entire body still, but his eyes don’t leave Stu. It’s the same face Steve saw the day he broke through the Winter Soldier’s walls and found Bucky. It has a chill running done Steve’s spine.

“Hand it over!” Stark shouts, taking a step closer. Steve sees Sam mirror Stark, trying to keep the peace.

Everyone waits, until finally, _finally_ , Stu holds his hands out in surrender and turns towards Stark very slowly.

“My left coat pocket,” Stu hisses. Stark doesn’t waste time; he’s over there in two strides and thrusts his hand in Stu’s coat, withdrawing a small rectangular box.

Stark ignores him. He grips the box tightly in his hand, holds it close to his chest.

“Do not ever. Threaten me again.” The quiet words do nothing to hide the promise of a threat.

Stu’s response is with a quick punch to Stark’s face that leaves him reeling. As quick as it comes, Bucky is behind the bully and has him on his knees, his left hand wrapped around his throat.

“Bucky.” Steve says it with as much calm as he can muster. He thinks Bucky’s got a handle on this but inside, his heart is pounding wildly because if this escalates, Steve doesn’t know what he’d have to do and he’s not ready to find out.

But his panic is cut short; Bucky loosens his grip around his throat but it moves to the back of the shirt. Steve sees the rapid rise and fall of Bucky’s chest but other than that, he’s the paradigm of calm. Steve will take what he can get.

“Buck, can you take Mr. Stark back to _Brooklyn_?” Better to get Stark out of here before even more trouble starts.

Bucky lets go of Stu with a bit of a shove and makes his way to Stark, who’s on his back with his hands over his face. Bucky’s touch his gentle as he helps Stark sit up and after a moment’s rest, get him to his feet.

“No one saw that, right?” Stark asks, dazed.

“Absolutely not,” Bucky replies, deadpan. He shoots Steve a look before they leave the place.

Steve releases the guy he’s got a hold on and he scrambles away like Steve’s poison. Steve pays him no mind. He feels everyone’s stare burning into his skin but he keeps his head high when he turns towards the bartender.

He crosses over to her and pulls out some coins from his front pocket, passing it across the counter. “I’m sorry for the mess ma’am. I’d be happy to help clean it up.”

The bartender looks bewildered more than angry. She looks at Steve and then to the coins on the counter. In the end, she only takes three coins and then pushes the rest back towards Steve. “Keep the rest.”

“I couldn’t – “

“Yes you can,” she cuts him off, sternly but then her lips quirk up. “You’re lucky that it was entertaining or I’d make you clean the entire place.” When Steve doesn’t make a move to pick it up, she scoops up the coins and plops them in Steve’s hand. Reluctantly, he pockets it.

“I’d keep your kindness to yourself,” the bartender advises, “Lots of people willing to take advantage of that.”

Steve smiles. “Noted. Sorry for all the trouble ma’am.” When he turns to leave, Stu is on his feet surrounded by his friends. He’s glaring at Steve but shrinks back when Steve gets near.

“As you were, gentlemen,” Steve says as he walks past them. He can’t seem to pack enough disdain into those words.

-

He gets back to the ship to find Bucky waiting for him on the ramp to the cargo hold. He’s flipping a knife between his fingers – a nervous tick, Steve has learned. He stops beside Bucky and crouches next to him.

“How is he?” Steve asks.

“No concussion. Sam should be finished patching him up soon.” Steve watches the graceful dance of the blade between Bucky’s metal fingers, finding it oddly soothing. Bucky clears his throat and it jerks Steve out of the moment. “Sam thinks he might need to stay a night though, just in case.”

“Well, there’s plenty of space,” Steve says. He nudges Bucky’s shoulder. “Is that cool with you?”

Bucky’s fingers stutter for a split second, the knife nearly slipping out of his grasp but then he starts all over again. “Don’t see why not,” he replies, in a way that tells Steve something different.

And Steve, well why wouldn’t it be? A year in recovery but this was the hurdle they struggled with most. Steve’s read the file and he’s sure Bucky has too – but Bucky has never let on just how much he remembers his days as the Winter Soldier. Countless nights of nightmares and half-memories recovered but there had only been one night where Bucky fell apart, confessions gushing forth in a mixture of English and Russian. That night was one of the worst, watching helplessly as Bucky choked on his own guilt and horror.

Steve had heard Howard’s name that night. They have never talked about it since.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve asks, fighting to keep every inch of his tone neutral. Not that it matters; Bucky shakes his head.

“It’s not a big deal, Steve.” His words are curt. Steve could push but he promised himself a long time ago he wouldn’t. Steve won’t go there if Bucky’s not willing.

So Steve tries a different path. “All right. Want to play cards or something? Wait ‘til Sam finishes up?” Bucky shoulders slump and his head bows. When he speaks up again, he sounds exhausted.

“Thanks pal, but I think I’m going to head to my room, try and get some sleep.” He stands up and pockets the knife he was flipping. The sudden absence of Bucky beside him leaves Steve feeling bereft.

But Bucky doesn’t leave right away. It’s almost like he hesitating and when Steve glances up, he sees countless emotions flicker over Bucky’s face, his mouth open as if to say something else. But he shuts it and with a brush of fingertips across Steve’s shoulders, feeling almost accidental, he retreats into _Brooklyn._

Steve exhales slowly. He wishes he wasn’t half as disappointed with himself as he is right now.

He pushes himself off the ground and heads inside the ship. He presses the red button to close the ship up for the day – doesn’t seem like anyone’s going out again tonight.

He walks over towards the med bay, hearing the quiet hum of conversation. When he reaches the door, he sees Sam cleaning up a mess of bloodied bandages. Stark is sitting on top of the bed with a thick bandage over his nose and a black eye. Steve’s eye is immediately drawn to Stark’s chest, where soft blue light glows from what looks like an orb in Stark’s chest.

Steve breaks his gaze, feeling ashamed for staring. He knocks on the doorframe. “Am I interrupting?”

“Not in the least,” Sam tells him, heading to the sink to wash his hands. Stark swivels his head around – it seems to take a minute to focus on Steve.

“Woah, he is a real boy,” he remarks, leaning towards Steve.

Sam snorts while Steve arches an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Oh believe me, I’m relieved. I’d have to get my head examined if I really were hallucinating Captain America.” He squints at Steve then winces and touches his face gingerly.

Steve looks to Sam for an explanation but Sam shrugs. 

Bemused, Steve steps forward and holds a hand out for Stark to shake. “I’m just Steve Rogers now.”

Stark ignores Steve’s hand. “Right. Very nice to meet me, you knew my father, blah blah blah. God, I have a ringing headache.”

Steve drops his hand and crosses his arms over his chest. To say he’s not impressed would be an understatement. “Right. We can let you rest, have Sam or I here wake you up every few hours. 

Tony flops a hand at them dismissively, already leaning back on the med bay bed. He settles down to get comfortable, folding his hands over his chest. “Turn the light off before you go.”

Steve’s not even a little ashamed to admit the temptation he has to leave it on. But Sam gets to the switch before he does and so Steve leaves with no way to satisfy his annoyance.

Sam waits until they’re a few feet away before he speaks up.

“So no luck finding a mechanic huh?”

“Sorry, we ended up getting a little sidetracked.” Steve jerks his head to the door. “How bad is it?”

“It really isn’t. But I figured better safe than sorry.”

“It’s a good call. I’ll stay up and wake him,” Steve says. He already asked Sam to stay behind to look after the ship, making him babysit Stark seemed like a raw deal.

“Tell you what, you let me catch up on my sleep, I’ll take over for you after six hours or so.”

“If you need the sleep – “

“We both need the sleep, Rogers. Six hours,” Sam says, pointing a finger at Steve. It’s not worth the time to fight about it. And if Steve’s honest, he’s perfectly okay with sharing the work.

“Six hours,” Steve confirms. He watches Sam retreat to his room, leaving Steve alone in the cargo bay. He looks around and catches sight of the punching bag rigged up near the far wall of the room.

“Good idea as any,” he mutters, stripping his jacket off, ready to blow off some steam.

-  
The next six hours past slowly but Steve keeps himself busy – when he finishes with the punching bag, he grabs his sketch book and pencil, aimlessly doodling whatever comes to mind. He wakes Stark up twice; all he gets for his trouble is a glare and Stark rolling away, muttering under his breath.

He’s relieved when Sam takes over because exhaustion has seeped into his bones it feels like. He goes up to his room, pausing in front of Bucky’s door. He doesn’t hear a sound but that doesn’t stop him from debating the merits of knocking on Bucky’s door for a full minute before he thinks better of it and slips into his own room.

Steve groans when his back hits the mattress – it puts pressure in all the right places without making the tense muscles in his back worse. It’s starting to feel a little like home, a place Steve had long forgotten by now.

His dreams lately have left him exhausted – memories that span across two wars, nearly similar in loss and pain despite being two different time periods. Bucky falling turns into elderly Peggy Carter living out her finals day in a room too small for the brilliant light that she radiates. The loss of SHIELD agents he barely knew but still mourned when he saw their bodies strewn across Brooklyn Valley. The serum does nothing to hide the bags under his eyes or suppress the insomnia.

But right now, he’s not crouched down in a trench or sitting beside his best girl’s bedside watching her life leak out slowly. He’s back in a dump of an apartment, on a scratchy sofa that chafed bare skin, 140 lbs lighter and curled around a sketchbook. Beside him is Bucky, untouched by years of torture and manipulation, flipping through a pulp magazine he scored from Bobby Martin two floors above them.

“Bobby Martin’s got no taste, lemme tell ya,” he says, in that wonderful Brooklyn drawl and with a small grin on his lips. He nudges Steve and points the page toward Steve so he can peek. “Read this and see for yourself.”

Steve doesn’t spare it a glance. He grips his pencil tighter, knows in a different body he might even break it. He’s overwhelmed with the urge to draw this, quickly before…before…

“Steve?” Bucky waves his hand in front of Steve and frowns. “Oh come on, it ain’t that scandalous.”

“I’m not offended,” Steve says, grabbing the magazine out of Bucky’s hand to look at it himself. “Just couldn't see very well.” The words feel like rocks, rough in his throat and he coughs just to clear it out.

“Well, if you’re that desperate, I don’t think a story’s going to do it for you.”

“You runnin’ your mouth ain’t gonna do it for me,” Steve mutters, a lie that nobody needs to know about. But Bucky throws his head back and laughs, throws an arm around Steve’s shoulder.

“Aw shit, Steve, you’d be lucky to have me,” Bucky says and Steve doesn’t point out that obvious that he is, he is so lucky that it’s unfair that Bucky got the short end of the stick in life. If he could have passed along that luck to Bucky, then maybe things would’ve been different.

“I – “ Steve begins to say but he’s stopped with a finger pressed against his lips. Bucky’s peering down at him and it’s like being under a microscope. His heart rattles against his chest, unsteady.

“Time to wake up,” Bucky murmurs and he dips his head closer and closer –

Steve is awake, half off the cot. Above him, Sam’s voice crackles. “Yo Steve, time to wake up.”

“I’m up,” Steve responds, feeling the last remnants of the dream slip away, “What’s going on?”

“You might want to come check our engine room, I think you’re gonna want to know about it.” Steve lets out a groan. He doesn’t know if he can handle another engine malfunction. They’re even docked at a port, what could be wrong now?

“I’m coming,” is what he says instead. His dream has left him dazed a little (how long has it been, Steve wants to ask himself, how long has it been since you last felt that but he doesn’t think he’d like the response). Still he makes his way to the engine room, preparing for the worst.

He’s not, however, prepared for Stark to be underneath his engine while classic Earth songs are on full blast. Steve recognizes the small box blaring out the music from the tavern.

“Stark,” Steve says but the music drowns out his voice. He tries again, a little louder. “Stark.”

“Allow me,” Sam says. He nudges Stark’s foot a couple of times and yells, “Yo, Stark!” Stark drops whatever fancy tool he’s got in his hand and he slides out, shooting both of them an annoyed look as if he wasn’t just digging around in the engine of _their_ ship.

Steve gestures to the small box. Stark rolls his eyes but he pokes at the tablet and the music cuts off sharply. Steve’s just happy he can hear his own thoughts.

“What are you doing to my engine?” he asks, with as much patience as he can muster.

“Oh, you know, wining and dining, I’m really hoping to make it to second base tonight,” Stark says. He looks and sounds better, more alert and ready to make sarcastic comments.

“Well, there’s an image I never needed in my head,” Sam says. Thank god he’s here as a buffer.

“Stark, I’m not kidding around.”

“I was only half-kidding. Okay, okay,” he says and holds his hands up when Steve’s gaze turns dark, “I’m fixing her up. You guys have neglected the shit out of this poor girl. My old man would be outraged.”

“Is that so?” Steve says flatly. He’s discovered that the limits of his patience when it comes to Stark are rather finite.

“Yes Cap, it is so. It’s the great frontier, I’m surprised you’re flying her around in this state.” Stark pats the engine one, twice. “She needs all the help she can get.”

Steve wants to fight back because he doesn’t take to anyone accusing him of not looking out for his ship. But then Stark bends backwards to fiddle with something and the awful clicking sound the machine’s been making since they first flew her stops. Stark reappears with that smug smile that wheedles its way under Steve’s skin.

“Huh,” is all Sam says.

Stark points his tool at them. “You’re welcome.”  
-

“Just hear me out,” is how Sam starts the conversation that Steve knows he isn’t going to like. Sam’s instituted a crew meeting in Steve’s room. Down the hall, Steve can hear Stark clamor around the engine room. Steve still isn’t sure if he wants to leave him by himself but the three of them had to talk.

“You think we should ask Stark to be our mechanic,” Steve fills in.

Sam looks to Steve and must sense his hesitation. “It doesn't seem like you’re a fan.”

“That’s not…entirely the truth,” Steve admits.

“It’s okay if it is,” Sam says, “We can’t all get along like cookies and milk.” In the corner on top of Steve’s desk, Bucky snorts.

“Yeah but that because he’s – “ Steve cuts himself off. A Stark, is what he wants to say. It really is like meeting Howard again. Stark has an edge to him Steve never saw in Howard but their eccentricities, their brilliance is undeniable. Howard had a knack for unnerving Steve sometimes and it looks like Stark inherited that but times five.

But Stark appears to know his way around the engine room. Steve supposes he shouldn’t be surprised – his grandfather designed them and from what Steve was told, Howard continued the business well after the first Great War.

And Stark was right - it’d be silly to think they can travel much longer without a decent mechanic. It's worth their while to invest in a mechanic than to maroon themselves on a planet and pray they get work.

The look on Sam’s face means he knows Steve’s realized it. Steve turns to look at Bucky, hasn't voiced his thoughts. Steve hasn’t seen him since their conversation yesterday on the ramp. And if Bucky was worried about one night with Tony…

“Bucky?” he asks. He can't imagine it’s an easy thing to for Bucky to answer.

“If it’s for the good of the ship,” he says finally, “it makes sense.” His response stuns Steve and if he has to guess, Sam too by the look Sam tosses Steve’s way. They wait for him to say more but Bucky doesn’t seem to have anything else to add.

It’s the captain’s choice, Steve thinks grimly. “We’ll ask,” Steve decides after a quiet moment. “Make an offer. See if he’s up for it.” No one mentions his reluctance. 

“Sounds good to me,” Sam says. Bucky shrugs it off and hops off Steve’s desk, slipping out of Steve’s room quietly.

-

“I’m worried,” Steve admits to Sam later that day over dinner. Bucky hasn’t reappeared out of his room since the meeting. Stark is still tied up in the engine room doing god knows what to the ship. He only stopped by to pick up some food and then returned to the engine room. Steve had almost asked him about the offer then but somehow he couldn’t get the words to come out. He’d ask him again later.

“I know,” Sam says patiently, “It’s just back to giving him space, Steve.”

“I know why we need Stark,” Steve explains, setting his fork on his plate, “But it’s like we’ve slipped backwards and we’re back to the days when we settled on Hesper. And if it’s going to be like this while Stark’s here - ”

“Steve.” Sam’s voice is firm when he cuts Steve off. He waits until Steve’s looking him in the eye before he continues. “He made the decision on his own. That was his choice. And you forcibly trying to second-guess that for him doesn’t do anything for him.

“Now I don’t know if Stark will say yes or no. But if he does, it’s going to be hard. It’s an obstacle Barnes hasn't faced before.” Sam leans forward, his voice softer. “But Steve, I watched him spend weeks huddled inside our little shack until one day he stepped outside it. He learned what it was like to be outside his comfort zone. He grew to interact with neighbors, people at the market…he worked at the docks by himself. And that was a year, Steve. I think he’s ready to take this on too. 

His words are overwhelming. Steve hears Sam’s argument, recognizes that there’s truth to them. He’s almost angry at himself for feeling like Bucky can’t handle this at all.

But that’s not it. It’s not about Bucky; Steve realizes it’s selfishly about himself, what he’ll do to avoid watching his best friend fight the demons he never deserved. It scarred Bucky and it wounded Steve 

Steve has seen every side to Bucky, knows him through every inch of his body and soul. Knows that it’s not a question about Bucky’s strength to handle obstacles. It’s about Steve’s selfish desire to preserve the fragile peace Bucky found within himself to avoid any more pain.

The disappointment is bitter as shame sweeps through Steve. He nudges his plate of food away and crosses his arms over his chest – an effort to make himself be as small as he feels.

“You’re right,” he confesses, “It’s his decision.”

Sam watches him for a moment, as if trying to assess his decision. “It doesn’t have to change how you feel about, Steve. Just how you move forward now that you’re aware of it. All right?”

Steve lets the words sink in, until the meaning takes hold in his mind before he nods. “All right.”

-  
His conversation with Sam lingers in his mind for the rest of the day, until it’s time to sleep but Steve finds himself alone in the cockpit, staring up at the night sky. Bucky finds him there an hour after. Sam has gone to bed while Stark has wandered back to his temporary room, tinkering around with something in there. He seems to be suffering from the same insomnia Steve is. And Bucky too, when Steve gets a look at his face when he comes to a stop behind the copilot’s seat 

“I can’t sleep a wink,” Steve says with a small smile, slouched in the pilot’s chair.

Bucky grips the back of the copilot’s seat – the knuckles on his right hand are turning white. He doesn’t look at Steve. In these moments, Steve has learned, it’s important for Bucky to do what he needs to do on his own time. Steve will wait.

“I killed them,” Bucky mutters finally and the expression of guilt and pain is heartbreaking. After another moment, he adds, “I killed Howard. And his wife.” He chokes on the last word and he swipes a hand across his mouth and looks away.

It’s the first time Bucky has openly spoken on the topic. Not that Steve needs to be told – he already knows. He read every single word in that file Natasha gave him. Recalls every single victim on there.

“I know,” Steve says quietly, “But Bucky – “

“It’s not my fault,” Bucky says, his voice mimicking Steve’s tone and Steve shuts his mouth. “Is that what you’re going to say?” He gestures behind him, towards the rooms and he must know Stark’s still awake because he keeps his voice low. “Do you think Howard’s kid is going to say that too when he finds out?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says honestly, “I find it hard to believe anyone who’d think that though.”

“Because you’re you,” Bucky says tiredly, “But not everyone is like you. Or Sam. How can you expect someone to forgive their parents’ murderer?” Steve straightens up and face Bucky head on, anger and frustration starting to swell. He’s learned not to sweep what Bucky’s done under the rug, has learned to accept that the Winter Soldier is deeply entwined into Bucky as a person now and that won’t change. But he hates the word murderer, hates it when it’s aimed at Bucky. The Winter Soldier killed people but the murderers were the ones behind the scenes, pointing Bucky in the direction and handing him the gun.

“How do you know what his reaction will be?” Steve asks, “How can you determine that without giving him a chance to react first?”

“Don’t coddle me, Steve. What other possible reaction is there?” Bucky shoots back.

“Many, actually. And you know what, it’s not the end of the world if he turns it down. He’s not the last mechanic in the Rim.”

“But it’s –“ he cuts himself off, his hands curling into his long hair and tugging at it. “I want what’s best for _Brooklyn_. And if Stark can take care of her – “

“He won’t be the only one, Bucky.” He lowers his voice then and speaks more gently. “Are you having doubts about Stark onboard?

Bucky closes his eyes and lets out a quiet, half desperate laugh. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” He stares at the copilot’s chair, hands back on top of the headrest and fingers curled up. He looks so lost and confused, unsure how to deal with it.

Steve wishes this were something he could protect Bucky from. But it’s not. So instead he gets up, slowly and with some noise to let Bucky know he’s coming. When he has Bucky’s attention, he moves, closer until he’s right beside him, a hand sliding over Bucky’s shoulders. There’s a split second where Bucky tenses but it dissipates and Bucky folds in on himself, leaning on Steve for support. Steve pulls him in, his forehead resting against Bucky’s hair. Bucky makes a soft, pained noise but his fingers curl into Steve’s worn tee and he doesn’t fight against the embrace.

“If you’re don’t think it’s a good idea, that’s okay Buck. Sam and I will support whatever decision you make.”

“It’s not that,” Bucky mutters, “We need him, I know we do. But he has to know about me". 

“Yeah, I think so too.” His hands rub circles into Bucky’s back. “But whatever happens, it’s not going to be because of you.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything more. They stand there for a few minutes, not speaking a word but drawing in as much comfort as they can. But Steve’s finally feeling exhaustion creep into his bones and he stifles a yawn against Bucky’s shoulder.

“Wimp,” Bucky says with a smile in his voice. Steve laughs.

“Super soldiers gotta sleep too.” He pulls away from Bucky but he can’t bring himself to let go completely so he keeps a hand on his back. “How about you? Can you sleep?”

“That’s a loaded question, pal.”

Steve fumbles with the words in his head but can’t find any other way to put it except: “You can bunk with me.” They never really talked about the nights that they’d share a bed on Beylix. It was just a mutual yet silent agreement that sometimes it was just easier to sleep with someone beside you. It hasn’t happened since they started flying - the cots aren’t as big as the mattress in Beylix but Steve’s ended up with the captain’s room and the cot could fit two.

He sees Bucky hesitate and Steve’s ready to shrug it off and say it’s no big deal but Bucky nods and Steve’s relaxing before he even realizes he was on edge waiting for Bucky’s response.

They make their way to Steve’s room and Bucky settles with his back to the wall, facing the door while Steve settles beside him. It’s a tight fit and Steve has to throw an arm around Bucky’s waist but that’s not unusual – most mornings they wake up that way anyways.

“Night, Buck,” he murmurs and Bucky mumbles something in return. The thoughts running rampant through Steve’s mind drift away and soon after, he falls asleep at peace.

-

When Steve tracks down Stark, he’s tinkering away in the engine room again. Steve has to squash his annoyance because while he doesn’t like Stark fiddling around with _Brooklyn_ ’s engines, it’s amazing how much has improved. No more clicking noises, no more grinding gears, or scary wheezing. And Steve can’t help but admit he’s looking forward to see it in flight.

“I didn’t even realize our engine was that bad of shape, you’ve been working on this for days.”

“You’d be surprised,” Stark says around a mouthful of flashlight. “Where are your engine fluids?”

“I think Sam stocked them in that cabinet,” Steve says and Stark picks himself up off the ground to scour through the cabinet

“You know, my dad used to say the best thing to make a Firefly run smoothly is oil for the hot cars he used to drive thirty years ago,” Stark says. That brings a smile to Steve’s face.

“That sounds like Howard,” he says. Stark spares a quick glance at him.

“Yeah, the old man loved his toys,” Stark mutters before he plucks a bottle up. “This’ll do. But if you ever find yourself in a flea market, look for that kind of oil. Sadly, he was right about that.”

“Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Steve says. Stark doesn’t acknowledge him but he doesn’t say anything either so Steve pushes on. “You know we need a mechanic. And the three of us aren’t exactly smart about how to keep her flying. So if you’re looking for something to do…”

“What, fly off with my dad’s old war buddy, his creepy bff, and his trusty modern sidekick? Sounds like my dream job.”

Steve should’ve figured this would’ve been harder. “It’s just an offer. You help us with your engine, we help you hide from Hydra.”

“Really,” Stark says dubiously.

“Yeah. You know who I am, it’s not like I’m terribly anxious to get close to Hydra anytime soon. This helps both of us.””

“Right. So then just spend the rest of my life exiled to the Rim while Hydra uses _my company_ and _my name_ to police the goddamn galaxy? Thanks but no thanks.”

“You’re not the only one who has a fight to pick with Hydra,” Steve tells him. Hell, Steve is the last person Tony needs to explain that feeling. Bucky is his priority, first and foremost, but the idea that Hydra _won_ and is deceiving millions is just part of the long list of things that keeps him up at night.

“Right but do you even plan to go after them? Not likely when you have Hydra’s number one most wanted.” When Steve just gives him a blank look, Stark waves his left arm up and down. “Mr. Metal?”

A chill sweeps through his chest and Steve narrows his eyes. “What about Bucky?”

“Don’t be coy, Captain.” Stark stands up from the stool and crosses his arms over his chest. “How many other outlaws do you know are running around with a metal arm that screams commie?”

Steve’s mind is going a mile a minute. “How long have you known?”

“I got punched in the face but I wasn’t blind. It’s pretty hard to hide a goddamn metal arm like that. Thing of beauty, though.” He picks up the box he was so hell bent on protecting; for a split second it looks like he’s typing a message. Then, casually: “So were you going to tell me your commie boyfriend killed my folks before or after I took the job?”

Steve’s mouth drops open. “How do –“

“Shield’s pointless intelligence dump. Took some sorting through when that first got released but I found the information I needed. Answer my question.”

Steve sighs and leans against the wall. This wasn’t exactly how he planned the conversation. “Before. It wouldn’t be fair to you if you were a part of my crew and you didn’t know.”

Stark’s expression remains neutral. “All right and no hard feelings if I decline?”

He doesn’t look away from Stark because that’d be backing down and Steve never intends to do that. “The galaxy’s pretty big out here. We’d find someone else.”

“Huh.” Stark doesn’t say anymore, just continues to watch Steve with a gaze as almost as sharp as Natasha’s. Steve refuses to even twitch. But then Stark looks away and sets his box on top of the stool. He crouches back down by the engine and gets back to work.

Steve stares. “Mr. Stark?”

“Tony, for all that is holy in this universe. You’re making me feel like my old man.”

“Tony then,” Steve corrects himself, “Is that you turning down the offer?” Tony stops working and just lies there for a minute. Then, finally, he sits up and points a wrench at Steve.

“I’d have a couple conditions.”

“Of course.” The urge to roll his eyes is tempting.

“One: this room here is my domain. You trust whatever I have to say about the ship or the engine.”

“I’d listen,” Steve offers, “I can’t guarantee – “

“Two,” Tony plows on like he doesn’t hear Steve, “If there’s a chance to take down Hydra or save what’s left of my company, I’m going to take it.” 

The conviction runs so deep that Steve doesn’t doubt Tony will. “You wouldn’t be trapped here, you know. You’d be free to leave whenever you want.”

“Good. Three. I get the biggest room and half of whatever you rake in on jobs.”

“You can choose whatever room you want but you get equal share of the jobs,” Steve amends.

“Can I have your room?” Tony asks.

Steve stares at Tony. “Seriously?”

“You said any room.”

This would be the perfect time to take back every word, Steve thinks to himself with a groan. He knows he won’t though. “Sure. If you really want my room.”

“No, I was just seeing if you’d say yes.” Tony flips the wrench in his hand and lies back down. “I suppose I’d be amenable to your offer,” he says before he scoots back under the engine. The relief washes over Steve and it’s surprising how much he welcomes it.

“Great. Welcome aboard.” The response he gets Tony tossing a dirty rag out in the open air. Maybe Steve should be more annoyed than he feels but he just smiles to himself and scoops down to pick it up.

He makes sure to toss it on Tony’s chest before he leaves.

He finds Sam and Bucky in the cockpit, arguing about who can dodge the most asteroids. It’s nice to see Bucky out of his room though the conversation they’re having on any other day would make Steve nervous. But Steve doesn’t even plead for the sake of his ship, just presses his head to the back of Bucky’s headrest.

“Well?” Sam asks. Soft hair brushes against Steve’s face – Bucky must’ve turned to look at him.

“He’s on board,” Steve says.

Sam grins. “Hey, good job. ‘Bout time we can blame someone else for when our asses fall out of the sky."  
  
“Ha ha, Sam.” Steve lifts his head up to look at Bucky, whose attention has changed back to the window again. Steve flips a piece of Bucky’s hair.

“Tony threatened to take over my room. Think it’s only fair to take yours over if that happens.”

“What’s wrong with Sam’s room?” Bucky asks, offended but when Steve leans forward just a little, he can see the small smile on Bucky’s lips.

“Your room’s bigger,” Steve explains patiently and Bucky snorts.

“They’re the same size, punk.” Steve grins as he looks across to Sam who’s rolling his eyes.

“You two are ridiculous,” he gripes.

-  
With a mechanic on board, there comes to be a mutual agreement to cease looking for further jobs. It seems they’ve all stayed here long enough – Steve knows he’s anxious to get back to space. So they fly out and the stress Steve had felt the entire trip drifts away the further they get away.

Life with Tony on board is a new adjustment for everyone. And adapting to Tony’s presence on the ship is, well.

Three days after Tony moves in, an unfamiliar voice wakes Steve up with a pleasant “Good morning, Captain Rogers” in Steve’s room.

“My domain,” Tony reminds him when Steve confronts him about it, “JARVIS knows this ship inside and out – he’ll be able to tell us there’s a problem before we even realize it.”  
  
Steve hates it at first. The voice – JARVIS – spooks Bucky the first time he hears it and there’s a dent in the wall of Bucky’s room to prove it. Steve argues it’s an issue of privacy. Tony argues it’s their best line of defense for their ship. They waste so much time arguing about it that Steve slowly starts adjusting to it. The on the night he overhears JARVIS answering all of Bucky’s questions – “You are on board your own ship, Sergeant Barnes. The year is 2517 by Londinium time…” Steve realizes that there’s a place for JARVIS after all.

Then there’s also the inevitable tension between Tony and Bucky. Steve’s pretty sure they haven’t even held an entire conversation with each other. The days immediately following Tony’s arrival on the ship are the worst. Bucky tiptoes around Tony as if he is a ticking bomb, waiting for the inevitable explosion. Tony doesn't make any kind of gesture to dissuade Bucky of that either.

In fact, it takes a few weeks before out of the blue Tony pipes up during dinner, “So how about some upgrades to that arm of yours?”

It’s almost comical how Bucky jerks out of his seat when Tony speaks. He stares at Tony as if he spoke in an alien language. Sam and Steve share a look from across the table. Nobody moves.

Then Bucky says, “No.”

“Oh come on,” Tony wheedles, “I spent all last night coming up with neat ideas.” He drops his fork and points his hand straight at Bucky. “Just picture this for a moment: laser fingers.”

The room is absolutely silent. Then Sam starts chuckling and even Steve can't fight the smile when he sees the look of horror on Bucky’s face.

“No? Finger darts?” Bucky curls his metal arm around his chest, glaring at Tony. The guilt that has shadowed his face is gone for the moment. “It’s 2517, Barnes, live a little. That arm of yours is ancient and I think you are ready for the new century.”

Bucky narrows his eyes, shoves his bowl away, and gets up from the table without another word. Sam’s laughter stops immediately but he holds up a hand when Steve goes to follow.

“Just give him a few minutes,” he tells Steve.

Tony doesn't seem phased. “Y’know, that is the first time that I have not seen a lick of guilt on his face when he looks at me,” he says, picking up his fork and returning to his meal. Like it is a simple observation, like it is something insignificant.

Ten minutes later, when they’ve managed to finish their meal, Bucky comes back with a piece of paper in his hand. He drops it in front of Tony before he sits back down at the table to continue eating.

Tony shoots Bucky a curious glance before he picks the paper off his plate. Tony’s face morphs into shock and then quiet amusement. “Huh. Duly noted, Sergeant.”

Sam and Steve remain confused until Tony passes the paper over to them. Sam holds in his hand and moves it over enough so Steve can see.

It’s a crude drawing of stick figures. One figure has a bulky arm with a star drawn near the shoulder, outstretched towards the other figure with a circle in the middle of his chest. From the figure’s bulky arm, there are five little digits poking out followed by little squiggly lines moving towards the second figure. Above the squiggly lines are the words “laser fingers.”

The second figure’s arms are in the air and from the looks of his hair, it looks like half of it is singed off.

“Well when you put it like this Barnes, it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea,” Sam says. Steve glances over at Bucky, who refuses to make eye contact but Steve will swear on his life Bucky’s smiling. And it tells him that somewhere down the line, everything may work out after all.

-

Before Steve realizes it, four months have already passed. Other than Tony-sized blips along the way, the path has been relatively smooth. They’ve taken a few jobs transporting cargo, delivering supplies to settlements. The dwindling money amount they had saved up since Beylix begins growing again, slowly, but surely. They’re saving up for a supply run at their next stop to stock them up for a while.

It comes as a surprise to Steve one morning when JARVIS speaks up in Steve’s room. “Captain Rogers, you have a call.”

Steve frowns. “Who is it?”

“I'm afraid I’m having a hard time discerning the caller, as it is not a voice I am familiar with. Nor can I determine the call’s point of origin. But the caller says it is urgent you pick up.”

Natasha maybe? Steve tried to send her a postcard before he left with the number to reach him at on _Brooklyn_. He had no way of knowing if that every reached Natasha though – she had told Steve she’d lay low after the second war but she keeps moving around. Steve’s lucky to have any kind of communication at all.

Steve heads out of his room to the cockpit, where Sam is manning the console now.

“Sorry Sam, looks like I got a phone call.”

“Really? Who knows our number?”

“Natasha

“I don’t know yet, Natasha? Maybe?” He flicks the communication station on, waiting for it to boot up. When the green light up at the top flashes, Steve presses the answer button on the panel. “Hello?”

Natasha’s voice comes in, oddly bright if not a little breathless. “Hello Steve, have you missed me?”

“Maybe a little. So I guess you got my postcard?”

“I get all your postcards Steve, it’s just a matter of responding back. I must say, I was rather proud you took flight into space, didn’t know you had it in you.”

“It was a group effort,” Steve corrects.

“Like the new guy who answered the phone? Who is he?”

“JARVIS. He’s uh, kind of a package deal when you ask Tony Stark to join your crew.”

Natasha’s voice grows dubious. “You asked Tony Stark to join your crew?”

”Our options were limited. But he knows his stuff.”

She tsks. “And Sam let you?”

“I downright encouraged it,” Sam speaks up with a grin. On the other side, he hears Natasha groan.

“This is what happens when I leave you boys to your own devices.”

“Can we discuss about my poor decisions at a later time? What’s going on with you?” Steve asks.

“The usual. Say, are you going to be around Caspia anytime soon?”

“Caspia?” That has Steve’s attention. “That’s pretty close to Hydra territory.”

“It’s not that close,” Natasha says and for a split second, Steve sees her across from him, eyebrows raised and a falsely sweet expression on her face, denying culpability but letting Steve know she’s perfectly aware of her act. Then Steve hears a muffled voice on the other line and Natasha hisses, “Oh, quit it Barton.”

“Natasha? Everything okay?” Steve asks cautiously.

“Yes, everything’s fine. So listen, if you find yourself drifting towards Caspia, you think you might be able to pick me and my gentleman up?”

“Might take us a while, I think we’re about a week out.”  
  
JARVIS butts in, in his usual neutral manner. “If you don’t mind me butting in Captain, you are precisely 5.6 days away from Caspia.”  
  
“JARVIS is usually right about this stuff,” Steve says.  
  
“I’ll bet,” Natasha says wryly, “We can lie low until then.”

“Good. Just stay out of trouble, all right?”

“That’s a hard deal, but I’ll try my best. I’ll let you know when I get a more stable line of communication.”  
  
“Yeah. Take care.”  
  
“Doesn’t sound like trouble, does it?” Sam asks. 

Steve slowly shakes his head. “Nah, Natasha usually has a handle on things.” Still, Caspia is awfully close for two former Shield spies to lay low. But after everything they’ve been through during the second war, Steve trusts her with his life. She wouldn’t drag them into anything that’d risk their safety. “Think we can do a supply run on Caspia?”

“Shouldn't be a problem.” Sam pulls up the Cortex to search for Caspia’s coordinates. “Might even have decent stuff if it’s close to the new government.”

“Good. I’ll alert Tony and Bucky, make sure they’re aware of what’s going on.”

-

They’re on high alert from the moment they enter Caspia’s atmosphere. By mutual agreement, Sam is sent to pick up the supplies and then he and Steve will go pick up Natasha and her friend. But Steve has to don a cap and baggy clothes while Sam gets to stroll around in whatever’s comfortable.

“Not my problem your face is so recognizable,” Sam tells Steve when he tries to jam the too small cap on his head. “Have you thought about growing a beard?”

“Nope. C’mon, let’s get a move on.”

-

In the end, Steve could’ve walked around naked and they wouldn’t have been caught.

Natasha’s coordinates led to a reservation seventy miles west of civilization. There’s not a house for miles anywhere, not even a sign of anyone living off the land. He supposes Natasha wasn’t joking about lying low.

They get all the way to the edge of the forest before Bucky has to park the ship. From there, Steve and Sam hike due north until he spots a small log cabin tucked behind beautiful thick trees.

Natasha looks amused when she opens the door before Sam and Steve get within fifty feet of the cabin. “Is that a disguise, Rogers? I hardly recognized you.”

“Cute,” Steve tells her, coming to a stop in front of her staircase. “Are you and you're your gentleman friend all set?”

“You have no idea,” Natasha grumbles, picking up two duffel bags beside her. “Barton, come on!”

Natasha’s “gentleman” ends up being former Shield as well, Clint Barton. And he’s wearing the most ridiculously red Hawaiian shirt Steve’s ever seen. Steve _will not_ be distracted by it. He’s still waiting on the explanation of how that was his attempt to ‘lay low.’

But when Clint pays a compliment to _Brooklyn_ when they reach her and Steve’s grinning like a proud papa, he knows he’ll like the guy already.

“A little too vintage for my taste,” Natasha says, her eyes flickering over the interior, absorbing every little detail she can. “But it’s certainly you, Rogers.” She has a small smile on her face when she turns back to him. Steve doesn’t hesitate to pull her into a quick hug.  
  
“It’s good to see you,” he says quietly and the initial tension in her shoulders rolls away after that.

Later, when everyone’s crowded around the dinner table, Natasha jumps into an explanation. “We’ve been trying to scope out secret Hydra hotspots in the past year. Caspia was supposed to have a pretty decent one, filled with some intelligence. We thought we could get it.” She’s got her feet on Clint’s chair and Clint doesn’t seem to mind as he finishes his meal.

“Too hot?” Steve asks. Tony almost chokes on his food at his words but everyone moves on.

“It wasn’t part of Shield’s intelligence dump but Hydra made it public a few months after they took over. It became more active than we expected. It’s more than just guards and encryption, it’s integrated into Hydra’s main network on its home base,” Natasha explains, “I planned for it to take an hour, it would’ve taken us four.”

“A lot of good stuff was rumored to be there too,” Clint says with a wistful sigh.

“We got chased out of the capital with nothing. One of my contacts came through, led us to that house in the woods,” she tells Steve.

“So then now?” Sam asks.

“We’re still trying to work that part out,” Clint says with a grimace, pushing his plate away. “It’s hard to sneak around a ruling conglomerate when the intelligence outlets are all hooked up to the one place we can’t reach.”

“I’m sure we could figure out a way,” Tony says slowly and Steve already recognizes that distant look in Tony’s eye, like drawing up a blueprint for one of his many ideas. Steve remembers their conversation about conditions but right now just doesn’t seem like the time.

“You know you can stay here,” Steve speaks up, “Both of you. We’ve got plenty of room. There are the shuttles, a couple of rooms near the infirmary.”

“Might have to take you up on that,” Natasha says and meets Steve’s gaze. She gives him a small smile.

“Jesus, is this the island of misfits or what?” Tony points out.

“Nobody appreciates your dated references, Tony, Not even our dear captain,” Sam says as he stands up, “I can give you guys the tour if you’d like.”

“Hell yeah, I’d love to see her fly,” Clint says with a smile on his face. He nudges Natasha. “You coming?”  
  
“No, I think I’ll just head to a room.” Natasha’s speaking to Clint but her eyes don’t leave Steve’s face. “Do you mind escorting me Captain?”

Steve buries his apprehension and holds his arm out with a smile and a wink. “It would be my pleasure, ma’am.”

Steve leads her to one of the last remaining bedrooms in the crew’s hall in companionable silence. When he stops in front of the door, however, Natasha doesn’t remove her arm.  
  
“So how is he?” she asks, her voice soft. She doesn’t need to specify.

Steve leans against the wall. It’s a loaded question, with too long of an answer. “He’s better than you last saw him. Some difficult obstacles along the way.”

“Do I even need to ask who?” Natasha says dryly. “What about his memories?”  
  
Steve shakes his head. “Random, there’s no pattern to what he remembers. Sometimes it’s from before, other times...” He swallows down the dread of his next words. “He doesn’t expect to remember much else.”

Natasha, as always, sees through him. “You hope he will?”

“Maybe someday,” Steve replies, “Right now, I’m just too busy being grateful to ask for anything more.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m sure.” She has that knowing look on her face but she doesn’t press. With a last squeeze to Steve’s arm and a kiss to his cheek, she lets go. “Thanks again for today.”  
  
“What are friends for?” Steve tells her and Natasha laughs. In that moment, he realizes how much he’s missed her in the past year and a half.

“A lot of things, I’m learning. Good night Steve.” She disappears into the room, shutting it softly behind her.

Steve remembers the Russian harlequin novel he picked up from Mrs. Chen later that night. He grabs it from a shelf where he stashed it behind a couple of books. He pulls out a piece of paper and writes a brief note, tucks it into the book, and leaves it in front of Natasha’s door.

Steve finds Natasha curled up in a chair engrossed in the novel he dropped off last night. In her hand, she holds the note, idly twirling it as she reads. Steve smiles and thinks of Mrs. Chen back on Beylix, sitting on her worn quilt and reading away. She’d be very pleased that the book found a good home.

-

“We might have found ourselves a pilot,” Bucky tells Steve later, when they’re sitting on Steve’s bed and he’s dealing out cards for poker. It’s the only game Steve remembers how to play and naturally, Bucky picked it up as soon as Steve taught him 

“Oh yeah?” Steve asks.

“Clint’s been in the cockpit for the last five days, driving Sam up the wall until he let him fly her.” Bucky passes out the last two cards and picks up his own pile. “He knows what he’s doing though. He says it’s not the first time he’s flown a Firefly.”

“I don’t know if they plan on staying though,” Steve says, scooping up his pile. It’s an awful hand just like the last few of them and he knows it shows on his face. Dum Dum would laugh at him now like he did every time the Commandos played – “Looks like you’ll never be a super spy, Cap,” he’d say amongst a chorus of laughter from everyone else.  
  
“I’ve heard them talking. I don’t think they have very many choices left.”  
  
“Eavesdropping’s not nice, Buck.” But he nudges his foot against Bucky’s and gives him a smile when Bucky looks up.

“Natasha should know better not to be loud,” Bucky mutters.  
  
“I’ve never known Natasha to be loud.”

“Hmm, they say hearing is one of the first things to go in old men.”

“You’re just as old as I am,” Steve points out, “Hell, even a year older.”

“I wouldn’t remember,” Bucky deadpans. In the end, he throws down three queens. Steve huffs and tosses his cards on top of Bucky’s. He’d try and wipe that smug smile off Bucky’s face but he finds he doesn’t care to do such a thing.

“Would you be okay with them joining?” he asks suddenly, “First Tony and now Natasha and Clint.”

Bucky looks thoughtful. “I would’ve preferred them over Tony,” he says and Steve lchuckles. “Guess it was just inevitable,” Bucky finishes and at Steve’s questioning gaze, he just shrugs. “It couldn’t have been just us forever.”

The words warm Steve’s heart before he thinks of what Bucky’s implying. “Did you prefer it that way?”

Bucky’s smile is enigmatic and fleeting as he picks up the cards between them. “I don’t know. But it feels like we made the right choice. Being out here…”

“It feels like freedom,” Steve fills in and Bucky’s lips press together. Steve wonders if he got it wrong before he sees Bucky’s shoulders shaking. “What now?”

“Your Captain America is showing,” Bucky says with a snort..

“Yeah, yeah, stop yukking it up and deal,” Steve shoots back. Bucky begins shuffling the cards, chuckling as he goes.

-

Bucky’s right though.

They made the right choice.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [marvel-bang: "Brooklyn Assemble" Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2531054) by [endeni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/endeni/pseuds/endeni)




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